Angel loved dawn. His shifts didn't always last until just before dawn, but they never went after. Most bars were closed and most crackhouses were too wasted by dawn to give Angel anything. Which should be annoying, but instead dawn was always beautiful, even in Hell. Maybe especially in Hell. It was quiet, which after a night in a studio or strip club, was desperately needed. So Angel took his time as he clopped home in his heeled boots.
And the Hazbin Hotel was home. Instead of the glaring lights of the studio, the Hazbin Hotel had soft, yellow lights. It wasn't just the lights, somehow everything about the hotel felt… softer. If the studio was reality, the hotel was a dream. A few hours to shut off his brain and shut out his problems.
Currently, his problems consisted of a broken wrist and a couple a bruises. Nothing he couldn't shake off, but he needed to make it past the lobby without being seen, and he needed a couple of days lying low until it healed. Which would have been easier if that fucker Valentino had gone for one of his lower appendages but he'd picked the top left one to snap. Then Valentino had forced Angel Dust to perform on the broken wrist for hours. Said it really gave something to his performance.
Yeah. Fucker.
Angel was no dummy. He knew Valentino hurt him because of his little stunt with the Radio Demon earlier. He knew the Radio Demon would know it too. Angel Dust was a proud motherfucker, dammit, and he was not going to let himself be pitied by the Radio Demon of all people if he could help it. Charlie would make the sad eyes too if she saw it, and even worse, he'd have to explain the whole thing to her.
Hoping he could slip under the radar, he stepped into the Hazbin Hotel.
Should've known nothin' slips under the Radio Demon's radar.
—-
Alastor was sipping tea in the lobby and reading the mystery novel he'd missed out on the other day. The lobby was a strategic area to pass time in, as if any threats to the hotel were to appear, they often started by blowing up the nearby front wall. The wall had previously been a deep forest green Alastor was fond of, but after the latest explosion, he colored it a deep burgundy with black voodoo dolls adorning the tops of the curtains. Classy. Shame it wouldn't last.
Alastor took a deep sip of his earl grey tea and flipped another page. He had his guesses, but Agatha dear was so clever, it was hard to be sure his guesses were correct. For a moment he paused to wonder if Agatha Christie would've been able to pick him out as a serial killer in his heyday. Mmm, interesting.
The hotel front door clicked open. This time of morning, Alastor would be extraordinarily surprised if it was anyone other than their resident prostitute coming in. Demons in Hell do not make a hobby of waking up before noon.
Angel Dust slumped in and clicked the door shut with his right hand. He then crossed his arms and crossed the lobby towards the elevator. He crossed his arms in such a way he was almost cradling them. Alastor's eyes narrowed. He was cradling an arm.
Alastor cleared his throat. Angel Dust's eyes darted from the elevator to Alastor, hardened, and then shifted back to the elevator. It was like he was daring Alastor to say something about it. No doubt Angel would prefer to keep his pride intact and ignore the injury as much as possible. Alastor felt a pang in his chest. Was it his conscience or was it regret he'd missed the entertainment watching a weak demon like Angel get his wrist snapped? Had to be the second one. Puzzling, though, he didn't usually find weak demons' pain enjoyable. Still, he was likely the responsible party for the injury, and Alastor was nothing if not responsible and reliable to see things through to the end.
"It's a little late to be heading for bed," Alastor said. "Care to join me for tea?"
Angel stopped. Fixated on Alastor. "No, thanks."
"How about some bandages then? For the arm." If it was possible, Angel's whole body seemed to sink down into the floor a little. Angel sighed like he'd lost some sort of battle with himself, and dropped into the chair across Alastor.
"Wrist," Angel corrected. "Can you… not tell Charlie about this?" He held out his arm to Alastor without meeting his gaze.
"Hmm. I suggest you come up with some sort of story to explain it. It will take a few days to heal, and our lovely princess will not wait that long to enjoy your company. Assuming I'm correct and this is that pimp's work?" Alastor magicked up some bandages and salves to numb the pain. He took the appendage gently in his long, spindly claws and started working on it.
"It's no fuckin' big deal. Happens sometimes, s'all." Now Angel did meet Al's eyes, defiant.
A terrible idea came to Alastor's mind. His smile widened. "Awful lot of 'accidents' for that line of work. Perhaps I should drop by the studio sometime to give your 'director' a few helpful tips." He'd be able to clear up whether his dead conscience had resurrected itself or whether he had changed to enjoy a weak demon's pain. Probably the latter.
—-
Angel Dust considered the Radio Demon's offer. It wasn't like Charlie, who was naive and had no idea how business worked, and managed to make a huge mess at his place of employment. True, the Radio Demon would probably piss off Valentino as well, but he was more subtle barbs rather than accidentally setting the studio on fire. After making him work on a broken wrist, Angel wanted some payback. Maybe he needed to add self-harm to his kink list because Valentino wouldn't take it lying down but Valentino deserved to be a little more uncomfortable. Who better to disturb the pimp than the Radio Demon?
"Alright, but no killing anything or anybody. You got that?"
"It's a deal," Alastor's eyes turned bright with green fire.
"Not a deal. Just knock yourself out if you feel like entertaining yourself in a porn studio," Angel said. The green fire died and Al's eyes cooled back to magenta.
"Sounds like a roaring time! Let me know when you're working next."
Angel got almost a week off and then he was ordered back into the studio. Alastor was waiting for him down in the lobby. Angel was pacing his room, picking out his crispest suit and nicest gloves, knowing it didn't matter because he'd have a change of clothes in the studio anyways. Why was he so nervous? Right, because this had been a terrible idea and he was about to get the living shit beat out of him. Or maybe the dead shit considering this was Hell. Maybe he could tell Alastor he was calling the whole thing off?
Then he'd look like a coward.
Angel threw on his suit and held his breath on the ride down the elevator. He stalked into the lobby. "Let's do this," he growled to Alastor.
In response, Alastor grinned.
—-
Al had never been inside a porn studio before. In fact, he'd never been in any sort of TV studio before but he knew right away it was not made for him. The cameras were harsh and impersonal, not like the friendly and familiar feel that a microphone had. The boom mikes positively loomed over oneself. The room was large and cold, not like a cozy radio recording room. It was also incredibly crowded. Did all these people need to be here?
Angel had ducked into some side room to change outfits and prep for filming. When he came out Alastor's first thought was that the lesser demon couldn't possibly be warm in that. How come he wasn't shivering? Angel stepped over towards Alastor when he spotted him.
"Hey. You okay?" Angel asked.
"Positively! I'm not the one performing today."
Angel nodded.
Valentino swept into the room and if it was possible, the studio got even more busy, like a hive of some kind of insect. His coat today was even more fluffy and tacky than the last one Alastor had seen, hot pink and sporting tiger stripes. "Let's get to work, people!" Valentino boomed.
Angel took one step in front of Alastor towards Valentino, almost protectively if Alastor didn't know any better. It was oddly touching. Did the prostitute even realize he was doing it, and who he was doing it for?
"Oh, Angel! I see you've brought a… friend. And so soon after the last one," Valentino purred.
"Y-yeah, um, the Radio Demon, he, uh-"
"Pleasure to be here! Why when Angel told me about how proud he is of his work, I just simply had to see it for myself! We've grown a lot closer, sleeping together in the same hotel, of course. Quite close, indeed," Alastor chirped.
Valentino's face dropped. Victory for Alastor. Valentino simply made things too easy. The Radio Demon hadn't even gotten started.
"We don't usually allow guests of any sort in the studio. I thought Angel of all people would know better," Valentino said, directing a cool look towards the spider demon. Angel paled.
"Well, I am the infamous Radio Demon! Not exactly your run-of-the-mill demon, so I hope you don't mind the intrusion!"
"For you? Not at all," Valentino lied.
"Besides, I simply must know how my beloved darling spends his working hours," Alastor added.
Alastor watched Angel take a deep breath and smirk. "Yeah, thanks fer coming, toots," Angel said. "Keep it in your pants while I'm working, 'kay?" And Angel winked at Alastor.
Oh, he was good.
Angel started striking poses on a heart shaped bed and photographers began taking pictures on their flashing cameras. Something about promotional pictures for the video.
"Hmm, I think the red clashes with Angel dear's outfit. Don't you think an ivory color would be more… aesthetically pleasing?" Alastor pointed his question to the set designer, a demon with spiraling horns.
"Hmm, now that you mention it-"
"I picked the color, I want maximum saturation," Valentino cut in sharply.
"Of course, boss," the demon quickly answered.
Alastor smirked.
They eventually brought a second porn star in to play opposite Angel Dust and while they filmed, music beat in the background. Alastor kept up the snide comments undermining Valentino.
"Don't you think a slower tempo would build more… anticipation?" Alastor asked the sound guy. Or at least, Alastor thought he was the sound guy. He was the guy in the back with a DJ keyboard. Was he supposed to have an official title? Alastor didn't know anything about picture show productions.
"We can fix it in post edits," Sound Guy said.
"It doesn't need fixing," Valentino hissed.
Alastor smirked wider.
He meandered over to one of the camera people. "Don't you think this angle is a little-"
"CUT!" Valentino snapped. "That's it, get out of my studio! Now!"
"Film people are so touchy," Alastor held up his hands in surrender and allowed himself to be escorted towards the door. "Darling, I'll see you at home! Don't keep me waiting!"
"See yas, sugar!" Angel called from his spot on the bed.
Alastor's work here was done. He let himself get ushered out the door onto the street.
Alastor paused. He'd gotten the reaction he wanted but he hadn't gotten to see the lesser demon in pain at all. Valentino must've been too wary of Al's power to strike the prostitute in front of his powerful supposed lover. Alastor had caught the demon off guard and unprepared to be facing such demonic power after all.
So how was he to test his theory that he'd suddenly become inclined to injuring weak demons?
Well, a simple stroll through the streets of Hell ought to answer that, so Alastor began humming a tune and twirling his microphone staff as he went. Some imp got beat up there, a rat demon got beat up there. Alastor's chest stayed quiet.
Perhaps he needed to cause some pain himself. Alastor pivoted towards some alleyways known for trouble.
"Stop! I said I'm sorry!" a succubus screamed as a larger bull demon slammed her head against the ground. He looked weak.
Alastor was all teeth. "Release the lady. Now," he demanded.
The demon hadn't looked at him yet. "Buzz off, pal. It's none of ya business."
Alastor stretched out, lengthening claws and neck and sharp teeth. "Wrong answer."
By the time Alastor was finished with him, the demon was a bloody pulp on the ground. Bones stuck out in places they shouldn't. Alastor waited for a thrilling rush to fill his chest, but he felt nothing. Just some slight satisfaction.
"Thank you," the succubus gushed and rushed to take Alastor's arm. He shook her off but he wasn't really paying attention to her, too distracted in his thoughts as he turned away.
It couldn't be true. He couldn't be growing a conscience after all this time in Hell. He'd been a serial killer. He wasn't a good person. He'd never be a good person. Redemption was a fool's goal, fool's gold. Alastor wanted to terrorize the citizens of Hell and accumulate enough power to never be threatened by any demon. He'd always wanted that. A conscience would get in the way of that.
His thoughts took him to the doors of the Hazbin Hotel. It couldn't be that Charlie's goal and the hotel were starting to get to him, could it? He was always so objective about these things. He wasn't growing attachments.
He didn't care about the prostitute. Maybe he'd been having a rush of acid reflux instead. A heart attack? Was that even possible for the dead?
Alastor needed to get back to attending his duties as hotelier. And he needed to really rip something apart. Perhaps that room on the second floor that was long overdue on renovations. The wallpaper there was hideous, he'd just decided.
—-
Angel was a professional. Valentino was a professional. Valentino waited until filming was done for the night, and backhanded Angel into a wall. "You stupid bitch," he said. He grabbed Angel's arm hard enough to bruise and pulled Angel into the changing room at the studio.
Valentino magicked his contract chains into existence around Angel's neck. He yanked Angel around for a while, slapped him a few more times, and reminded Angel that he was a weak, powerless whore who belonged in the trash and had no future. As if any of that was fucking news to Angel.
Valentino let him go without doing anything worse. "Don't forget who your real daddy is. I own you, bitch."
Angel knew when to bite back and when to retreat. This was definitely a time to retreat. He stayed on the floor and did not make eye contact until Valentino left. Even then, it was safer to wait until Valentino left the studio to be free to leave. After a few calming deep breaths, Angel got to his feet and went over to the mirror. The marks on his neck from the chains could be seen underneath his choker. He grabbed for some of the darker, orange concealer. He was going to have to layer this shit on thick if he wanted to show his face at the hotel.
It was still dark when Angel left the studio, and Angel was grateful for the cover darkness would provide him. The darkness also depressed him, though. He needed some ecstasy and a good time. He rang a number.
"Hey, Cherri Bomb. Whatcha doin?"